


Introductions

by entanglednow



Category: Being Human
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, M/M, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The front door bangs against the wall and leaves a dent that George knows is probably <i>never</i> going to be fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introductions

The front door bangs against the wall and leaves a dent that George knows is probably _never_ going to be fixed.

Mitchell barely has the presence of mind to kick it shut. "I'm sorry that I didn't know she was a succubus until _after_ I'd shaken her hand, George."

There's the snap of stitching, the quick clatter of buttons and Mitchell's hands are inside his open shirt.

"Fuck," George manages, with what he thinks is a heroic amount of coherence. Because Mitchell is talking and touching him at the same time and he's not quite sure how he's managing it.

"What are you doing? We can't just - _Mitchell_ \- we can't just -" It's hard to talk then, because Mitchell growls something that sounds a lot like 'shut up' and presses him into the wall so hard he can feel the grind of his skull against the plaster.

For some weird reason that just makes it _better_.

Mitchell tastes like peppermints and his teeth are sharp and George is far too attached to the muffled groan that chokes out when he hauls him in close, when they're crushed together, obviously and _shamelessly_ hard against each other.

When Mitchell finally tips his head back his eyes are ink and George makes a garbled noise, catches the too tight material of Mitchell's jeans and pushes up.

Mitchell's eyes drop, quickly, helplessly to his throat.

"I need something else to do with my mouth," he says, all in a rush.

George very nearly chokes on his own tongue when he's shoved back into the wall.

Mitchell mouths his way down George's body in a series of rough, bites, just on the edge of too sharp, just on the edge of painful, though George is fairly sure he wouldn’t have minded that at the minute. That he wouldn't have minded _teeth._ There are fingers in the waist of his jeans, thumb pulling the button open, knuckles dragging where the denim is drawn tight, painfully tight. George makes a noise in his throat that sounds embarrassingly like a growl. He'd very much like to know where his self control has gone, because he used to have some, he knows he did.

"Mitchell, fuck, _please_."

"Shut up, shut up," Mitchell says, voice a wreck of what it used to be, and he's pulling denim down George's thighs so hard it burns. Mitchell's hand lifts, curls round his dick, fingers cold and just a fraction too tight. But when he slides in heavy over the flat of Mitchell's tongue George can't help himself, can't control his own hands.

Mitchell has more than enough hair to shove his fingers into and George is fairly sure the grip he has isn't polite, or fair. Mitchell doesn't seem to mind. But George knows this is a level of control he's not used to - that he doesn’t think he should be responsible for because he's in no fit state not to abuse it.

Not to just fuck Mitchell's mouth.

And - oh God - where did that thought come from - because now he can't think of anything else and his thighs are shaking.

He pushes, once, hard enough to feel guilty about and that's enough, that's more than enough and he's not even sure if Mitchell wanted him to - and he's apologising, he's sure of it.

Mitchell makes a noise around him which sounds like it hurts, something low and dirty and shameless and then George is sliding down the wall and Mitchell's face ends up against his throat and he doesn't even care. But all Mitchell does is breathe and say his name and laugh, soft and breathless.


End file.
